


Here

by edourado



Series: Hell's Kitchen Chronicles [100]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Drabble, F/M, kastle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:50:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edourado/pseuds/edourado
Summary: Instead of spending the night with his hobo blanket in front of a hobo fire, Frank goes to Karen’s after the hotel





	Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carrythesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/gifts).



> We all missed Karen in the last episodes. I'm fixing it.

They did everything they could to hold her there for as long as they could. But, unless Brett wanted his job done for him, she had to go, so she told him so.

He didn’t like that, but she was beyond caring. He offered a car to take her home, but she knew that it wasn’t just him trying to help as much as him wanting someone to check on her, so she said no, thanks, and hung out in the hotel lobby for a while longer, calling the office and talking to Ellison on the phone, getting in a cab and giving the Bulletin’s address to the driver, because there was a police vehicle following her.

She didn’t go past the lobby, walking out and hailing another cab the minute the officer drove off, only then going home.

Her breath caught in her throat when she walked into the living room.

Frank was sitting on a chair, elbows on his knees, head bent towards the floor, breathing hard, still covered in blood, bullets stuck all over his vest.

“Oh my God-” she breathed out, dropping her purse and rushing to him, getting on her knees in front of him, lifting his head to make him look at her, sticky dried out blood flaking out from his skin and getting caught in her hands. “Frank, what are you-”

He looked like hell, like he might collapse at any given moment.

“You ok?” he asked and she wanted to cry again, because this was unbelievable, he had litteral bullets stuck to him and he was asking if she’s ok.

Letting out a breath that was half a sob, she inched closer to him, his hand lifted to her face and she put her arms around him again, not caring that she was getting blood on herself and her clothes, that did not matter in the slightest.

Just like then, he leaned and pressed his forehead to hers, breathing in and out while she cried.

She kept crying every time they met, now.

“Karen”, he breathed out, pressing. “Are you ok?”

Sniffing, she nodded, and he moved his face, leaning further, his nose on her cheek, now, her hands on his chest, over his vest, his hand on her back.

The kiss she pressed to his mouth was half out of desperation, half out of relief that he was here, in front of her, injured but alive, his heart beating strong in spite of everything.

Just like after the explosion, his hand touched her face and slid around to the back of her head, and Frank opened his mouth to her kiss, pulling her a bit closer, and Karen leaned further into him, feeling herself become softer, relaxing, touching his face, tears falling down, jumping a bit when he hissed at the contact of her fingers with the wound the bullet had scrapped over his ear.

“Come on”, she said after a moment, getting up and pulling him with her, walking them to her bathroom.

She helped him out of his vest, untangled the ruined shirt off him and tried not to cry at the sight of that chunk of metal in his arm. She tried to do it, but he leaned on the sink and pulled it off himself, blood flowing, staining the bowl, her counter, her floor, but all she cared about was the gash in his arm.

“Look at me”, he asked while she rummaged her cabinets for the first aid kit. “Are you hurt?”

She sniffed and shook her head, lifting her hands to his face again.

“No”, she said, trying to breathe, he’s here, he’s alive, he’s ok. “I promise. You got there in time.” And then it occurred to her. To confirm the answer she had given Brett. “Why were you there, Frank?”

He looked at her, those dark eyes digging deep, a mess, he was a mess, but God, he was here.

“He was going after you.”

“You can’t just do that”, was her answer, stepping into him again, pressing her chest to his, feeling something like liquid calm when he held her with his good arm. “You can’t just jump in front of a bullet, Frank, that’s-”

“He was gonna get you”, he said, leaning back to better look at her face. “He almost did get you. And I told you, Karen, I told you, I am never letting anything, or  _anyone_ -”

“Ok”, she interrupted. He was bleeding, they could talk about this later. “Ok.”

And then, because he ducked his head towards her, she closed her eyes and accepted his kiss, allowing herself to relax into him and forget the rest of the world for a few moments before she pulled back again, lips pressing smaller kisses on the corner of his mouth, breathing in and out deeply, finally managing to get a hold of herself.

She offered to stitch him up, but he asked if he could use her shower first, promising he would let her tend to him after.

Karen had nodded, and they looked at each other again, and maybe there was a magnet, something pulling them together.

She ended up in the shower with him.

Certainly not how she had imagined it - and she had imagined it - but just as intense, more bloody, his uninjured arm holding her the whole time, hers careful around him. They didn’t have time for much, but she was pretty sure she would remember the feeling his his hands, his body and his mouth against her forever, even if she said a little secret prayer that this would not be the first and last time.

He was dressed in the sweatpants Zac, the first guy she had dated when she first got to New York, had left behind. They became pajamas, but she gave them to Frank after they stepped out of the shower.

He wore them without a shirt while lying on her couch, his arm stitched up the best she could, his head on top of her legs while she worked on the gash over his right ear.

She wanted to ask if it was Lewis that had done that. Or Madani, or the police. How did he dislocate his arm? How many people had shot at him, exactly?

Why did he put himself through all of that? Why was her life so important to him?

What now?

She had a million questions, but his eyes were closed, wincing here and there while she sewed him back together, so Karen let it go. For now.

Her hand was in his chest, feeling the strong heartbeat, his skin warm against her palm and his head was still resting on her thighs when she fell asleep, first aid kit resting on the end table by the couch.

When she woke up the next morning, she remembered the kiss he had pressed on her lips, telling her he had to go, he had to finish this.

Karen had kissed him back and held him tight against her for a moment, praying he would come back, she knew she could not keep him from going.

“Please, let him come back to me”, she said to whoever was listening before closing her eyes to sleep again.

.:.

She only found out because she was looking, paying close attention, doing some things that she shouldn’t.

The CIA’s director of covert operations has died. Cause non disclosured. It was all very hush-hush around the death of William J. Rawlings.

She didn’t need tricks or name dropping to know about the shootout in Central Park. Middle of the night. One William Russo in custody, severely wounded, hours of surgery, no certainty of a recovery.

None of these reports say Frank Castle, but she read it in every line.

She is staring at the Thanksgiving meal she cooked for herself in an attempt to not think about any of that anymore, about Frank, about her life, about his skin against her in her shower, when there’s a knock.

Karen jumps, head snapping around to look at the front door, but closes her eyes, trying to not build up hope. Maybe it’s just a neighbor. Maybe it’s Foggy.

Not a neighbor. Not Foggy. Frank.

Her feet are not touching the ground while he holds her, her own arms around his neck.

“You’re here”, she breathes out, and he just grunts his response, taking a step in an pushing the door closed behind them.

He’s here.


End file.
